I sit. Cold and alone. My thoughts the only company in this struggle, the only character in the drama about to be performed in this one act play—destined to be repeated for eternity. I feel the demon rising up within the very bowels of my existence, urgent and forceful it comes unbidden. There is no escaping the cruel monster without the pain and agony that invariably accompanies its passage. My nails dig in at my sides—gripping, gripping, gripping for dear life as I wait for the end to come—the sweet release that will only come when the dark night of this struggle is lifted from my weary shoulders. Sweat begins pouring from my creased brow. Deep crevices, like canyons in the desert, line my face, sweat coursing through them like mighty rivers ripping their jagged path in the earth. My every muscle tenses and contorts from the strain.
Reaching out for any distraction I find the comforting words of some ancient sage or other. Perhaps a fellow warrior who once did battle in this same spot. I picture them devoid of armour, stripped bare before God and their own serpentine dragon that must be slain. Circling, circling, circling, they fought for their meager and sullen lives as I do now. Together, we are locked in this timeless struggle. Their words a comfort, a testament, an acknowledgment across the years that I am not now truly alone, nor have I ever been. They have ever been with me and ever shall be. A testament that none of us is truly alone while we still live and draw human breath. As long as warm blood continues to course through our veins, we will ever have with us our forefathers and ancestors, those that have passed before and those that will pass this way again.
A low rumble exploded from somewhere deep, injecting me with such a fear as has only been felt on the battlefields. I envision a cloud of dark black crows, a spectre of death circling waiting to rip the carrion from my bones should I fall in this venture. I imagine my bones, bleached white, pristine as a throne made suitable for a king, forever enshrined in this posture, hunched and decrepit as an old woman beneath the weight of a lifetime. I groan with the ghastly pain. It stabs deep within my soft, vulnerable belly and rips a scream from between my lips.
There is no stopping now. The beast draws near. The end comes swiftly.
A scream.
I slump, the perspiration falling from my now wet and sodden hair.
It is done.
“Where have you been,” comes the call from my beloved friend. My friend who left me to this struggle alone.
“I had to poop.”
